


Happy Face

by CorpseArt



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Being the villain isn't easy, Bisexual Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream Has ADHD (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Depression, Dream is spiralling, Dreams and Nightmares, Families of Choice, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, Loneliness, Mental Health Issues, No one knows what Dream looks like, Non-Sexual Bathing/Washing, Obsessive Behavior, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Kissing, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Protective Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Dream SMP Ensemble, Protectiveness, Secret Identity, Self-Doubt, Soft Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Touch-Starved Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Trust Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28983600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorpseArt/pseuds/CorpseArt
Summary: Every good story needs a villain and Dream shoulders the weight of it, desperate to keep the world he's built with clumsy hands alive as everything spirals around him.-"Are you sure you’re fine with this, Dream?”Technoblade asks him one evening as he’s half-tiredly stimming with twitches of his fingers against the table he’d slumped down against, headphones slanted uncomfortably on his head.“You know how people are.”“I could say the same to you,” Dream had responded, voice lilting teasingly. “Blood for the Blood God.”
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Darryl Noveschosch, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot, Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF) & Everyone
Comments: 24
Kudos: 353
Collections: Dreamwastaken Angst/Other Dream-centric fanfics





	Happy Face

It’s a desperate grasp of frail reality, two dark pinpricks instead of eyes, a mouth stretching broad and flat against a white void in the mirror as Dream’s chest rises and falls with the desperate gasped breaths inside the dark bathroom, one hand curled tight around the edge of the sink.

There’s an echo of voices, calls and accusations, untrue and yet real, all ringing through his head, and he’s rattled down to his very bones, hair flattened in a mussy mess of sweaty strands.

“It was just a nightmare.” His voice comes out thin and distant as Dream draws a shuddering breath, one clammy palm dragging ice cold against his too hot skin. “Just a nightmare.”

He fumbles for the light switch, the abrupt change from darkness to artificial light making him wince, shrinking back into the hood of his shirt.

It was a stupid choice to sleep in, even with the AC running cold to combat the heat outside, but he _likes_ his hoodies. Loves that obnoxious shade of green that mirrors his Minecraft skin.

Dream huffs a tired breath, slowly lowering his arm down beside him as he stares into the bathroom with its yellow tiles and cream coloured bath.

It’s a horrendous mash of colour but perhaps that’s why he likes it.

The sounds of the real world slowly settles back around him with a pop and a buzz as he stretches out to unlatch the window and tug it aside just enough for a stream of light to stretch inside.

There’s no gust of cold breeze, Florida always obnoxiously warm even at night, but he inhales, feeling his lungs expand, holds it until his they _burn_ , and then slowly lets it out.

It’s morning. He’d gone to sleep after three am, the world quiet around him, all his friends soundly asleep in their different parts of the world, out of his reach, living lives that he isn’t part of.

He's barely slept but it's not a _new_ thing. It had never been good, even if it had never been this bad either. His sleep sporadic, forced upon him when he could no longer push himself to stay awake longer, often leaving him wide-awake in a tangle of blankets and a feeling of disorientation from his own body and life.

His dreams are strange.

Fanart browsed before bed painting life in faces of blocky characters, Technoblade flickering between a pretty man with long braided pink hair and a hunching piglin hybrid with blood thirsty gaze as he towered over Dream’s fallen form. George’s brown eyes overlapping the ugly white goggles of his blocky avatar as his mouth stretched out, fingers reaching to touch colourful blocks as he named them.

His friends voices filters less static in his dreams, as if they were there with him, the world an endless stretch of creativity and freedom at their fingertips, and he’s-

He’s in a _prison_. Left to rot inside four dark walls that eats at his sanity as whispers of something bad crawls through them.

It’s a bit, part of the plot, a villain arc that had painted ugly accusations in Tommy’s mouth and fear in his eyes, disappointment and hatred nipping at his heels as he wields cruelty far too easily on the server, his chat flooded with gnawing words that follows him into all platforms of social media.

It’s obsidian walls that follows him from hours of playing, trapped and watching the shimmering sheen with an obsessive sort of thing unfurling through him.

A soft noise draws his gaze down as Patches winds against his ankles and he crouches down, fingers angling down to scratch beneath her chin as she chirps, tail twitching behind her as a low rumbling purr built up in her chest, and a small tired smile curves his lips.

The Dream SMP is his creation. A world of blocks, friends peering back at him from pixilated faces, and he finds that he frequently has to take a step back and hunt down the actual streams, to see flesh instead of pixels, soft strands of dark brown instead of sharp angles on a flat head.

Dream knows that he’s spiralling in a way he can’t justify and explain. It’s in the rush that swallows him up during the manhunts, the mania that creeps through his speeches, the way he _revels_ in his place on the server, a world built on his own selfish needs and fears. 

A world where he isn’t alone, where he has friends that ribs and teases him, who reassures him that they _love him_ even when his ADHD is flaring up and he knows his stims are loud and annoying and frustrating to listen to.

Dream had been lonely before the SMP.

It’s a feeling that creeps up as he logs off, a disconnect from the world that feels so alive and wonderful, different from the dull walls of his house where he goes through the motions, counting down until his friends would be awake and online again with a restless sort of energy that leaves him staring at the ceiling above his bed for hours.

Dream feels more real than Clay. It’s a name that feels increasingly strange, ill-fit in the world he’s paved for himself with armour that shimmers purple against green, axe heavy in his hand in his dreams, the feelings that blossoms up overwhelming and addicting as he steps into a role and character that is _more_ than the real world will ever be.

It’s late nights bouncing plot between himself, Technoblade and Wilbur. Arguments, laughter, advice and details ironed out with enthusiasm and grins that can be heard in their voices as something slots into place.

 _“Are you sure you’re fine with this, Dream?”_ Technoblade asks him one evening as he’s half-tiredly stimming with twitches of his fingers against the table he’d slumped down against, headphones slanted uncomfortably on his head. _“You know how people are.”_

“I could say the same to you,” Dream had responded, voice lilting teasingly. “Blood for the Blood God.”

Techno’s screen shows just his face below his nose, hands twisting the colourful puzzle cube, solving it in a repetive sort of _clack-clack-clack_ that's hypnotizing to watch.

His fingers are long and strong, suiting the broad span of his palms, the nail on his right thumb jagged where it has been bitten down, the others short and neatly trimmed.

Each picture and blurred snapshots Techno shares with him Dream keeps carefully tucked away on his phone among the rest with screenshots and saved photos from twitter and the like, the occasional snapshot that had been sent exclusively to him, pictures of friends that he sorted out obsessively.

He _knows_ what the other man looks like but whenever he thinks of Technoblade the picture always overlapped with the pink haired man with tusks in his mouth and a slanted crown, or, when Dream’s mind was looping, more pig than human, eyes always clever and knowing, whether mask or skin.

Techno's hands pauses on the final twist of the blue side, Wilbur stretching out in the corner, eyes on the ceiling, coiled strands of hands poking out from beneath his beanie, clearly pretending not listen to them, and Dream wonders, for just a moment, if it had been planned. 

In his chest his heart thrums a wet _thu-thump, thu-thump_ as he feels the heavy consideration of the other man weighing his words, and he hadn't dared to breathe until he snorted, accepting his word for it.

Dream is the villain of the Dream SMP.

It’s a role he takes because it suits him but also because he can’t imagine the role falling on any of his friends.

The DMs he gets are vile, suicide baiting and calling him all sorts of things that aren't true, the hatred that nips at him cruel, scrutinizing his every action until he’s stumbling and fumbling, second-guessing himself and feeling like he can’t do anything right.

He streams less but he’s online almost obsessively so, hiding his online status with coding as he paced the cell he found himself in game until he found himself wondering if he was going mad because he isn’t really trapped but it _feels_ like he is. 

Cut off from his friends the obsidian feels cold beneath his hands despite the fact that he knows it isn't there.

Dreams and reality blurring together in a way that's jarring and ironic as he listens to his friends through VCs. 

Hears the new friendships tentatively branching out with Technoblade slowly opening up to let the enderman hybrid into his life, their banter slotting with growing confidence and a blossoming undertone of warmth, and Dream drinks the sounds of celebrations at a mansion in flames against a dark sky, something envious and relieved and longing all alike coiling through him as nails scrapes against stone.

He listens to his friends and he knows that it’s worth it as alliances are formed in the afthermath of his manipulations, soothing them where his words had bitten harshly enough that the decompresion afterwards had been tense, shoulders drawn tight.

He worries over Tommy but Tommy always has a reassuring hand on his shoulder, Tubbo at his side, Technoblade watchful in that quiet, endearingly awkward way of his, Phil parental and worrying with a dose of fond exasperarion as Tommy gets _loud._

And Wilbur, filling the role of the big brother to Tommy, his gaze measuring the younger boy carefully before grinning, voice dipping teasingly to rile him up, always so predictable, and Dream finally dares to relax and _breathe_.

He worries about pushing _too far,_ the inside of his mouth tasting thick of iron from cheeks bitten raw, but the pride in his chest is thick and heavy and wonderful as he gazes out at the world he’s created and his friends blossoming inside of it.

And Dream hates that it'll one day come to an end, determined go hold on for as long as he can with teeth and claws and desperation even as jagged words bites deep into his skin.

His fingers trembles and he clenches them tight, Patches rising up to press her paws against his knee with a soft meow. 

Dream doesn’t know what he’d do without her and he strokes a careful thumb between those yellow eyes, knowing that she keeps him anchored, keeps him from sinking all his hours and life into a world that isn’t real but _feels_ real in a way he struggles to rationalize.

 _“I want to try,”_ George had said, his voice tinny through the headphones as Dream paused what he was doing, late afternoon, chest bare and sweaty back practically glued to the leather of his chair. _“The whole Minecraft thing? If you’re still up for it?”_

It’s a small thing in the grand scheme of thing, an off-hand idea between two twenty-something-year-olds with too much sparetime.

But it's a twist of fate and the beginning of something new and beautiful as George offers him a warm, shy smile through the grainy camera.

_“I want to build a world with you, Dream.”_

George and Sapnap are his best friends. It’s still new, strange, even as it feels like he’s known them forever.

They slot perfectly into his life, the feelings they bring addicting and heady, accepting where so many had faltered, there when his impatience got the better of him, his voice waspish, their voices soothing and distracting him when mania is coursing through his veins and he's tipping too many days without sleep.

It's George and Sapnap who grounds him when he wanted nothing more than to scream as the word _cheater_ rattled around him, ruining any kind of pride he'd felt, souring the entire experience to leave him with nothing but hollow misery and tired frustration that digs its claws deep into his bones.

It’s George and Sapnap who answers, no-matter the hour he calls, often forgetting that Minecraft didn’t eat their lives twenty-four-seven, that they had lives outside of it, people outside of _him_ when they so firmly made up his world.

(Sometimes Dream fumbles a hand out in the dark, half-expecting George or Sapnap to be there beside him, where they belong, fingers creasing empty bedcovers as self-loathing blossoms through him, because he’s greedy and selfish, already has so much and yet craves more as he grasps for his phone with something churlish in his gut.

Dream wants Sapnap’s sharp gaze and fingers to reach out and touch him where his skin burns, to sling an arm around his shoulders and draw him tight against him, aching and lonely as he sits curled up on his chair at the computer with a hunger that burns inside of him.

Wants to run his fingers through George’s hair and muss it up to what was sure to be complaints and squirming whines, sulking until Dream would apologize, shoulders bumping together, comments and teasing words that balances on an edge of overstepping and pushing too much).

Dream straightens out and yanks at his hoodie, struggling briefly before getting it over his head, dropping it carelessly to the floor and breathing in and then out with a harsh expanding of his ribs.

He wants to play. He misses the server they've made the second he closes it down, wretched and pathetic in his loneliness and craving for a world that isn’t real but feels more real than standing in a bathroom with his cat watching him with lamp like yellow eyes.

He was nothing as Clay.

Being Dream has given him _everything._

More money than he knows what to do with, fans that support him even as his words are stumbling and awkward, met with criticism that makes him shrink into his hoodie because he hadn’t meant anything _bad_ when he compared them to kittens.

He just… he _loves them_ because they allow him to spend all his time on the server, donating and supporting him, there with words that finds him amidst the hatred, fierce and firm in his corner, teasing with the art they make, laughter spilling from his lips with a wheeze of half-mania as he’s scrubbing tears from his eyes after seeing video after video from people trying to tear him apart. 

Knows that sometimes he isn’t the best at expressing himself even as he tries and fumbles to make up for it.

Knows that he sometimes pushes his friends too far, so very afraid of that annoyance turning sharp and biting at him instead of tired sighs and frustrated shakes of their heads as he clams up, panicked and wishing desperately he could make himself just _stop_ sometimes.

 _“You’re passionate, Dream. Don’t beat yourself up about it,”_ Sapnap had sighed after one such occasion as Dream was clawing nails into his thighs. _“I still love you, dumbass.”_

Dream doesn’t know how he got so lucky but he fears everyday that it’ll come to an end. Afraid of being the reason for it, _terrified_ of missing a single moment with his friends while he has them as he paces the four walls of his obsidian prison but knowing that he’d sooner be nowhere else.

It’s sleepless hours of waiting for that first notification of someone logging on, lurking just long enough that he wouldn’t seem desperate as he dropped in during hours off-stream to just bask in back-and-forth banter before he had to be back.

It’s becoming harder and harder with how many are active on the server and who stream daily but he finds comfort at Sapnap’s side, George’s voice thick with sleep through the headphones when he finally joins them, Bad’s voice soothing with the exasperated ring of _language_ and yet so gentle when he asks how they’ve all been.

George keeps odd hours but thanks to the time difference it means that he’s online and gaming when Dream is and the knowledge ripples through him as his eyes watches small tears bead at the corners of his friend’s eye after a large yawn, looking comfortable in one of Dream’s hoodies, head tilting and voice soft as he murmurs a _good morning_ at his afternoon.

In fanciful dreams he imagines them all living together in a large house. Not just George and Sapnap but Technoblade, Tommy, Tubbo, Bad, Skeppy, Eret, Puffy, Jschlatt, Fundy, Purpled, Karl, Quackity, Nicki, Sam, _Wilbur_ -

Everyone in the world he’s paved together with clumsy hands, steadier ones joining his, one after the other, shaping the Dream SMP with hours and hours of time and love invested, and Dream is staying up until he’s so tired he’s tipping into a manic sort of energy only to crash long and hard in the aftermath of it because he _loves them, he loves them, he loves them._

The knowledge that it’s all worth it to see his friends smile, to hear the joy and surprise in their voices, lurking tense in the chat, anticipation thick as he waits for them to discover a new feature, a new building, something made just for _them._

To know that he was the source of it, that _he_ could make them smile like that, voices soft around his name like a soothing balm against his soul as he breathes out with a shudder.

Egging them on during manhunts that pushes him to the edge of his limits with the rush heady as blood pumps through his veins.

The crowning glory of survival, the fall of L’manburg, watching with his breath caught in his chest as Techno spread his arms out, something wretched and horribly amazed expanding through him until he can barely breathe with Jschlatt’s last words still ringing through his head as explosions went off around them, Technoblade’s fireworks painting the dark sky in a pretty sort of violence.

It’s Wilbur begging his father to kill him, Tommy’s fury and terror, Ranboo stumbling in the midst of it, eyes wide, Dream’s gaze lingering on their newest member, relieved when Philza reached out to tuck him under his wing with Technoblade grudgingly at his side as he prepared for his own role in the small dark panic room.

It’s the comforting words afterwards, streams closed down, adrenaline settling to leave a chat of a ragtag group of people he loves so much it _hurts_.

The Dream SMP makes him feel alive and it’s a childish possessive thing that makes him want to grasp and hold onto the people in it forever.

Dream steps out of his sweatpants and grimaces at the sweaty boxers as he peels them off, his t-shirt damp against the back as he drops it to the ground and reaches forward to turn the handle of the bathtub.

The sudden noise in the quiet makes his shoulders curl tight where he stands, naked and messy from his dreams, eyes flickering towards the rising sun outside the window.

He drops a bathbomb into the water, watching it spin around as it fizzled out, painting a blue trail, soft in colour.

It reminds him of George. Of watching a world where the only bright colour that stood out stark against the rest was blue, the neon green of his skin blending into an ugly sort of yellow that had made his chest squeeze tight.

Dream’s eyes are green, but they’ll never be green to George, and he wonders why it weighs on him as he hauls himself up on the edge of the tub, settling down against the cold metal with a shiver that crawls up his spine and makes his skin prickle.

He reaches out to give the bathbomb a spin with his toes as Patches leaps nimbly up on the sink, settling primly to keep an eye on him and make sure he didn’t drown.

Dream pauses with his hands curled around the edge.

Glances at his reflection with hooded eyes and something sharp and prickling in his chest before he lowers himself down into the burning heat that washes over his skin to ground him.

-

Dream pads on bare feet into his kitchen, Patches at his heels, making a proper nuisance of herself as he pulled the cupboard open and reached inside for a can of wet food.

She joins him on the counter as he twists to pull it open, eyes tracking his every move as he turned it upside down on her plate before reaching for a fork to press it out properly.

“Don’t be impatient,” he scolds fondly as her nose buts up against his knuckles as she noses a bit too close, rubbing against him with loud purrs practically vibrating from her chest as he couldn’t resist giving her a scratch.

He slides it down to the floor once done, reaching for her water bowl to refill it as she deftly hit the ground, small needle sharp teeth visible as she nimbly settled down to eat.

Reflexively he opens his cupboard to hunt for something for himself too even as his mind keeps drifting to the computer waiting with the screen bright inside his dark bedroom. 

-

Time is a strange thing when everything that he is hungers for a world where everything fades into a backdrop of friendship, warmth and life that fills his world with colour when the real one feels so dull and lifeless in comparison.

He’s stopped keeping fresh food after throwing away one too many sad vegetables at the bottom of his fridge and instead made sure to keep his cupboard and freezer packed to the brim with anything that wouldn’t spoil and could be prepared with minimum time and effort.

He tells himself it’s okay as he unlatches a can of corn and pours it out in a pile beside the microwaved food that looked like it was making a decent attempt at pretending to be something healthy.

Drops into the chair at his kitchen table and digs his fork into it, gaze flittering towards the door to his bedroom down the hall.

-

His phone pings at 07:46 and he nearly drops the toy mouse in his scramble to get it, fingers closing tight around it, thumb already on the scanner as the first call signal reached his ears.

Dream breathes in and out, giving himself five solid seconds before he swiped to answer and pressed it up against his ear.

 _“Morning Dream,”_ Sapnap says, voice thick with sleep, and Dream's shoulders looses tension he hadn't even been aware of.

He doesn't have to close his eyes to picture the way the younger must look, dark hair sticking up haphazardly from the night, dressed in sweatpants and a comfy t-shirt.

 _White_ , he thinks with a brief dip of his brow and a tilt of his head as he considers it. _Or pehaps red? No. No- white for sure._

“You’re up early,” Dream greets as he leaves the half-eaten food behind in favour of making a beeline for his bedroom, the bell on Patches collar rustling at his heels as she kept easy pace with him. “Ready for today’s streaming?” he asks as he closes the door behind him without bothering with the lamp.

 _“You know I am.”_ He hears Sapnap scratch at his beard, his voice making his mouth tug up as he drops into his chair and gives it a spin. _“You’re an obnoxious morning person, Dream, and I don’t like it,”_ Sapnap complains.

“Aww, you know you love me,” Dream laughs as the other grumbles, one hand reaching and closing around one of his stimming toys to fiddle with, fingers easily finding the little click-clack of buttons that could be tapped.

_“Somehow, yeah.”_

-

Obsidian walls closes around him as he dreams but in the morning hours there’s just him and Sapnap and George whose voice is muffled against the thick wrap of covers he’d huddled himself in.

 _“It’s cold,”_ he complains as Sapnap takes one look at him and promptly chokes on his laughter as Dream _wheezes_ because George looks positively _adorable_ with his dark hair sticking up haphazardly, shirt ruffled from sleep and gaze baleful.

Dream glances at Sapnap's screen, his _(white!)_ t-shirt rumpled, having made no move to tame the mess of his hair all morning, the opposite of George who looks mildly horrified to have caught sight of himself on his monitor, fingers hurriedly carding through his dark hair to flatten it down.

“It’s hot,” Dream disagrees, back in another green hoodie, Patches asleep in his lap, his fingers stroking soft down her body. “You should move here, George. You’d like it.”

 _“I bet you’re one of those insane people who keep their house at 50 degrees,”_ Sapnap snorts.

“I’m at a solid sixty degrees, _thank you.”_

 _“Oh, like that’s any better,”_ Sapnap shoots back dryly as he rows them both into the large expense of water, past light shores, trees stretching wide and tall on the islands they pass by, no apparent end goal in sight, and Dream is content to leave him to it.

“I’m wearing a hoodie!” he protests as a strange urgency worms through him. “It’s not that bad,” he mutters, fingers twitching a bit anxiously as he shifts his view up to where George has appeared to keep even pace with them in the air.

 _“Is it your own green one?”_ Sapnap steers them left. _“That ugly shade that matches your skin?”_

Dream resists the urge to stab him off the boat. “What else would I be wearing?”

 _“I had to wash mine or I’d be warm too,”_ George sighs and flood of overwhelming warm fondness nearly makes Dream choke.

 _“Oh gag me,”_ Sapnap grumbles.

“I would if I could,” Dream shoots back.

 _“Kinky,”_ George breathes as he steers down to walk side-by-side with them and Dream glances at the white goggles in the pixilated face, struck by the sudden urge to tear them off despite the small screen of his friend in the corner where brown eyes are clearly visible. _“Are you doing a plot stream today, Dream?”_

“Sorta,” he admits, looking away to scan over the ground for anything of interest, feeling George’s eyes lingering on him. “Talking, you know?”

 _“Still stuck in that prison, huh,”_ Sapnap says, voice dipping strangely. _“Must be getting kinda boring that.”_

“Could be worse.” Dream fiddles with Patches’ collar, finding the small bell with a press of his thumb. “Tommy is there and, well, Sam is the warden, isn’t he? It’s not like I’m _alone_.”

Sapnap makes a noncommittal noise, head perking up. _“What’s that?”_

-

In his dreams the mask settles over his face like a familiar thing, the axe heavy in his hand, his friends steady beside him, blocks melding into another kind of world entirely that makes his chest constrict as he trails down its streets and paths, stone biting cold beneath the pads of his fingers as he hauls himself up to settle at the top of the tower to look down upon the world that he loves.

He’s in a hoodie and jeans, armour discarded, leather strapped to keep the axe on his back, feeling the cold air as it worms past layers to make goose bumps rise up his skin as he breathes in.

When he looks down there’s blood sticky and stark on his hands and with a rattled breath he blinks and turns with axe in hand to meet Tommy’s terrified gaze.

 _“What’s wrong, Tommy? Are you scared?”_ the words are his, lips moving as his hand tightens around the wrap of the handle, mouth stretching behind the mask as he takes a step forward, Tommy shrinking back as he reaches a bloody hand out towards him. _“Why are you looking at me like that, Tommy?”_ Another step. “ _Aren’t we friends, Tommy?”_

The world flickers and his hand presses flat against obsidian walls, humiliation burning through him, mocking words burning deep into his bare back as he slides down to his knees with a tremble, hearing the celebrations through the voice chat as his teeth sinks into the skin of his hand to muffle the ragged noise of his panic.

-

“I’m crying.”

_“You’re crying?”_

“I’m tearing up.”

 _“Why?”_ George demands as Dream scrubs a hand over his face, feeling ridiculous but also so, so overwhelmed as he lowers his fingers to peer at the corner of the screen where his friend is fiddling with the glasses.

“Because you’re gonna see colours, George!” the words bursts out of his mouth, fingers curling into his sweatpants as he leans forward, an anxious sort of happiness threading through him. “You’re gonna see colours,” he breathes, mind struggling to wrap around the fact that-

“I’ll be the first thing you see through the colourblind glasses!” Dream jumps and loops, careful to keep himself in view of his friend, waiting, waiting, waiting-

_You’re gonna see me._

_You’re-_

_-_

_“But the thing about this world, Tommy, is that good things don’t happen to heroes. Let me tell you a story, Tommy. A story about a man named Theseus-“_

-

 _“I say that if we cannot have L’manburg then no one! No one can have L’manburg!”_ Wilbur’s voice rings out wretched and broken, shivers crawling up Dream's arms as he looks up, breath catching in his chest.

_“He had a saying-“_

**“It was never meant to be.”**

Dream tastes the heat of the flames as the world explodes around them, Sapnap’s hand locking around his arm and drawing him forcefully back with a stumble as Technoblade’s laughter rings out around them.

He imagines he can still smell the world burning around him as the game closes down and he exhales with a sharp breath, hands shaking in his lap before he clenches them tight.

-

“That was something, huh,” Technoblade breathes quietly.

Dream is silent, unable to find himself to say anything at all.

_It wasn't enough._

_-_

**_I_ wasn't enough.**

-

“My suggestion is that you exile, Tommy.”

-

“You’ve done a lot of bad things.”

_“Like what? What did I do?”_

Ranboo’s voice digs into his bones, rattling his teeth as his voice wraps around the boy where he hunches over himself, shaking, alone and afraid as he watches from the shadows.

“Well,” Dream tastes the words carefully on his tongue. “You betrayed your friends. You burned down George’s house, you blew up the community house-“

-

Tommy's furious eyes smolders and for a moment Dream waits with bates breath, but the anger flickers out into a tired resignation as he reaches up to tug roughly at the knots of his self-made leather armour with trembling fingers.

The ghost is strangely quiet beside Dream, anxious as his gaze flitters between them, mouth opening before hesitantely flattening into a thin line as hands tighten around a ball of blue.

The piece of blue he'd offered to Dream burns inside his pocket as Tommy throws the last of his things into the hole and steps back, thin arms folding tight against the rustle of the cold wind tugging at his fraying shirt.

There's a smatter of burns like freckles on his pale cheeks where he'd lingered too close, desperate to see if anything had survived.

The dynamite rolls off his palm and Tommy flinches, his breath rough, hands covering ears too late as he sinks down beside the new hole in the ground.

"It's for your own good."

"I know."

A moment of silence, Tommy's throat bobbing with a rough swallow.

"You'll be back, won't you?"

Dream tilts his head. "Of course."

"Good." Tommy's fingers twitches before curling together in a twist of fingers. "There's... no one else comes to visit me, you know?" He doesn't look up. "...Not even Tubbo."

"I'm your friend," Dream hears himself saying as Tommy tucks his chin on top of skinny knees and hesitantly glances up at him. "I'll always come back for you."

-

_It’s scary-_

_Can you imagine what Dream must be like in real life?_

_I hate him-_

_Did you hear the way he spoke to-_

_Always knew he was a bad person!_

_CHEATER_

-

**He’s scaring me. Dream, that is.**

-

 _“I love you, Dream,”_ George’s voice comes exasperated but fond, eyes warm, Dream’s fingers pressing against the screen, as if he could tumble right through it.

There's a hollow ache in his chest, guilt and too much he doesn't understand, eyes squeezing tight against the burn.

-

"Every good story needs a villain. It was always meant to be this way, Techno."

 _"I'm just sayin',"_ the other grunts as Dream cocks his head. _"We can always rewrite the script if we need to."_

"Aww, are you worried about me?" Dream teases.

 _"You're homeless green teletubby deadset on becoming the villain, excuse me if I'm not overflowing with confidence here."_ Technoblade's voice is flat.

Dream stabs him and then dodges the axe that jerks towards him with a laugh as Techno's eyes track him, heavy and unimpressed.

"You deserved that."

 _"Don't dodge the subject-_ " He switches to his crossbow. _"Don't you dare, Dream, I swear-"_

-

Dream watches from his perch as the world he so loves falls apart.

And he knows it needs him to be more than he is if he wants it to survive.

-

 _"Do you remember- do you remember before all of this, Dream?_ "

"What are you on about, Tommy?"

Silence as Dream slants a look at the hunched figure of the teenager as he drums his fingers restlessly against his armrest.

Fingers stops, clenching tight as he throws himself back with a spin.

_"Nothing! Nothing at all you stupid old dumb fu-"_

-

The screen loads, black obsidian walls on a dark screen, and Dream stares at the empty black round eyes reflected in it, smile stretching from ear to ear against a white void inside a dark room.

His fingers presses against his mouth, feeling the echoing stretch of the broad empty smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know, I've just been vibing a lot with Dream lately and this wanted to be written so here we are.
> 
> I'm not really sure what to say about it tbh but I hope you enjoyed it? It's quite the heavy burden to be the villain of a story and I really admire Dream for the way he's stepped up and into the role.
> 
> I accidentally posted it before deciding on a title so, uh, that's the reason if it changes suddenly. I was still sorting out the tags and - well, anyway.
> 
> This is an AU, obviously. Dream and Sapnap aren't living together and Dream hasn't shown his face to anyone as of yet. He kinda remains the mystery of the Dream SMP. His mom and Drista isn't in this fic either bcs I'm not comfortable writing about the families of them.
> 
> So, yeah, Dream's life has been a bit different. That's... all you need to know, really. The rest will be sorted out as we go.
> 
> Anyway, welcome to _Happy Face!_. I hope you're all strapped in and ready because this is gonna be a riiiide.


End file.
